I think he must have gone to England, and he came back in a white fury.

One of his big plans had gone wrong and the mental torture he inflicted upon me was more acute than ever.
"In the old days he used to come once a week; now he came almost every day.

He usually arrived in the afternoon and I was surprised one night to be awakened from my sleep to see him standing at the door, a lantern in his hand, his inevitable cigarette in his mouth.

He always wore the Albanian costume when he was in the country, those white kilted skirts and zouave jackets which the hillsmen affect and, if anything, it added to his demoniacal appearance.

He put down the lantern and leant against the wall.
"'I'm afraid that wife of yours is breaking up, Lexman,' he drawled; 'she isn't the good, stout, English stuff that I thought she was.' "I made no reply.